Chrysalis

The door was shaking on its hinges.

A piece of Legion history, the door to the Consul Chamber had stood for three thousand years. Abyssal steel, forged during the Rending, formed the core of the massive doors, which stood over ten metres tall, covered in potent enchantments of hardening and regeneration powered by Mythic cores. Atop that unbreakable frame, layer after layer of compressed, living stone had been placed, bonded together to create an impenetrable bulwark that defended the highest officer of the Legion.

Intricate and detailed carvings covered the outer face. Legend had it that the hands of the founders themselves had held the chisel. The images were mirrored from one door to the next, the form of the ideal Legionary imprinted in glorious, expressive lines. A body of steel, weapon drawn, perfect form, eyes that blazed with determination and a heart that burned even brighter.

Despite its incredible density and weight, despite being a bulwark that could receive a blow from a battering ram without shifting an inch, it was shaking.

Outside the door, two of the finest soldiers the Abyssal Legion could produce, stood to attention. Praetorian Guard, armoured in the rarest of the rare, full Abyssal Steel Praetorian armour. The two stood an imposing four metres tall, weighted polearms held steady. Two veterans, they had earned the honour of guarding the Consul Chamber through numerous campaigns in the depths of the Dungeon, fighting the worst enemies the sentient people of Pangera could face.

It could not be seen behind their visors, but sweat beaded both of their brows. The rolling waves of pressure that hammered against the door and bled through beat down on them. Lesser beings would be on their knees, blood pouring from their mouths, but within their coveted armour, they were safe.

Inside the chamber, it was far worse.

Idly, Commander Myriam began to wonder if this was how she would die. Not at the hands of an ancient, or some other terrible monster in the depths, but here in the heart of the Legion's strength, crushed to death by the rage of her own superior officer.

She felt blood well in her mouth so she leaned slightly to the side and spat in her helmet which she held tucked under her arm. It wouldn't do to stain the floor of the Consul's office.

It was quite a thing to see, the legendary berserker rage of the Consul. This was the power that had given her the ability to rocket through the ranks, ascending all the way to the highest office atop the bodies of innumerable monsters.

her fists clenched and unclenched. If she'd had her axe in hand, goodness knows what might have happened, thankfully it hadn't come

Breathe in. Breathe out.

the Consul,

body with strength. Containing it was difficult, just standing still was a trial. That power yearned to be used. It thrashed and coiled and whispered in her ear. She could lash out, she could strike, she could

Just breathe.

closed, the Consul went to war with herself

in control,

her fists, allowing the tension to drain from her muscles one

began to ease. It looked as if she wouldn't die today after all. The next time she came

apologise for my lack of control," Minerva eventually ground out as she finally managed to force down her anger.

why,"

receded to a more a more tolerable level, though it remained, simmering

stood for thousands of years now? Which idiot

and forth behind her desk, a habit she had unconsciously fallen back into, and breathed again. It wouldn't do for the rage to emerge

displeased, Consul. I also noted that the gathered clutch were predominantly younger and

their own claws," Minerva grunted, a mannerism in which she was almost identical to her husband. "The whole

Tree would lead us to look the other way as they instituted this

stupid to listen. Pride will doom this world a second time. I will

her desk and the shockwave blew Myriam's hair back. Remarkably, the